Signals From Home
by Ann Brill White
Summary: Farscape 1 picks up an errant signal from Earth, and John teaches Aeryn to dance


# Signals From Home

## By Ann Brill White

Time: shortly after _Jeremiah Crichton_

The damage to Farscape One had been surprisingly minimal, considering that John Crichton had been stuck on that primitive planet for almost three months - or what he had previously thought of as months. _A quarter of a cycle_, he corrected himself as he worked on his small ship's left engine. He'd been furious with everyone for leaving him behind without a word. It was a betrayal of their friendship. However, Pilot had explained to him that it was Leviathan version of a craving for pickles and ice cream, and that Moya felt terrible about what happened. He found it hard to be angry with Pilot under any circumstance. _Hey_, dren _happens,_ he thought to himself. Besides, it was good to be back among his friends. Getting involved in alien tribal politics almost proved hazardous to his health. 

He had to admit that he was happy here. Well, not exactly _happy_. Comfortable was more like it. He'd be happier if he was back on Earth kicking back a few beers and watching football with D.K., or swapping stories with his father. However, life aboard a Leviathan wasn't without its good points. John was just having a tough time trying to think of what they were right now. 

Unconciously, he started whistling as he cleaned three months' accumlation of gunk out of the controls in the cockpit. The whistling was off-key and horrible - nobody had ever accused John Crichton of being able to carry a tune. The three DRDs that were helping him let out a squeak of protest and hid. Well, who besided them cared, anyway? The rest of the crew were staying out of his way since he'd ranted at them when he got back. If they didn't like it, tough cookies. He switched from his bad whistling to even worse singing. "Wastin' away again in Margaritaville, searchin' for my long-lost chlorium salt..." he sang as he fiddled with the radio. He'd adjusted it to try to pick up long-distance signals from Moya while on the planet. It hadn't worked, because of the energy draining field. "Some people claim there's a Se-bay-shun to blame. But I know that it's nobody's fault," he sang at the top of his lungs. 

"Crichton!" A familiar female voice snapped at him from the deck. He stopped and poked his head up from underneath the cockpit. Aeryn Sun was looking up at him with hands on her hips. She was dressed in coveralls, carrying tools, and her long black hair was pulled up into a ponytail. She looked annoyed at him - which meant that things were back to normal. "What is that infernal racket? Pilot sent me down here to see if you were all right." 

"I've got some DRDs here. If there was a problem, Pilot would have known about it," he snapped back and continued to clean the radio. "I was just singing." 

"Is that what you call it? It sounded more like you were torturing D'Argo!" She moved toward her Prowler with a purpose. 

"Then the whole ship would have heard about it. Nope, just little ol' me- nobody _important_." She winced slightly at his barb. "But while you're here, I could use a hand. Hang on," he said, then jumped down from the cockpit. He went over to the open panel underneath his ship where the antenna was housed. 

She looked over at her Prowler, then reconsidered. Aeryn crossed the deck and joined him under the shuttle. "What do you want me to do?" she asked. 

John handed her his flashlight. "Hold this," he directed. "The DRDs spotlights are too small. I need the beam pointed up here." Aeryn aimed the flashlight in the direction that he pointed, as John reached into the shuttle with both hands. "That's it... move in a little closer..." She peered upward into the hatch to see what he was doing. 

All of the sudden, something connected violently. John jumped back, banged his head on the fuselage of the shuttle, and yelped. "_Dren!_ It shocked me! I must have a bare wire somewhere," he shook his hands. A staticky sound was emanating from the shuttle's radio. "What the..." Crichton muttered. 

"Careful, John," Aeryn cautioned. The sound became clearer. It sounded like... music? 

"Got it!" he laughed. "Pilot! Can you put a trace on the signal that we're picking up?" 

Pilot's image came onto the hangar viewscreen. "What signal, Crichton?" 

"A low-powered signal, about 1200 kilocycles," he explained. "Can you get a lock on it?" 

"I'll try," Pilot answered. 

In the background, he heard a familar gravelly voice that he'd remembered from childhood. "This is Wolfman Jack. Aaaaarrrrooooo!" the voice imitated a wolf howl. "We've got all of your favorites going tonight. We'll be right back with some more of them." Then the program went into a commercial. 

"That.... that's from Earth!" He reached in and fooled with the wires again. "Wolfman Jack! How about that?" Crichton shook his head in disbelief. 

"What is a... wolfman Jack?" Aeryn looked puzzled. 

John glanced up at her. He'd almost forgotten that she was there. "He's a disc jockey. He plays music that people dance to." Aeryn cocked her head at him quizzically, still not understanding. "Sebaceans _do_ have music and dancing, right?" 

"I'm sure they do in the colonies. I grew up on a Peacekeeper ship, remember? We had military music, but nothing like this... wolfman. We'd have probably shot him." 

"You mean you don't know how to dance?" Crichton looked at her. "You're serious," he laughed. "I don't believe it." He clambered up into the cockpit and patched the radio into the flight voice recorder. He wanted to make sure that he wasn't hallucinating. 

Wolfman Jack came back on with a ear-splitting howl. Aeryn cringed, and John laughed. "Hey, kids! Here's another one of your favorites from my main man Sam Cooke..." The music came on, and John shook his head with disbelief. "Aw, this is great!" he grinned. He felt like a kid again. "This is the best," he laughed. The tune on the radio started _"Don't know much about history, don't know much biology._" John started drumming the beat on the side of his shuttle. "_Don't know much about the science book, don't know much about the French I took..._" 

Aeryn looked up at him with a bemused stare. "What _are_ you doing?" she asked. 

"_But I do know that I love you...._" John jumped down from the cockpit, and walked with the rhythm to her side of the shuttle. He must have looked pretty foolish, because she had a silly grin on her face. He reached out his hand, and she took it, not entirely trusting him. "_...and I know that if you loved me too, what a wonderful world it would be_." He sang - badly - as he led her to the area in front of his shuttle and her Prowler. He spun her around, and put his hand around her waist and laughed. She tensed at first, but let him lead. "_Now I don't claim to be an A-student..._" the music went on, and he spun her around again. John let go of her waist and grabbed her other hand. She moved clumsily with him, but caught on quickly. To his surprise, she was laughing too. He let her go, and started slowly dancing a circle around her and sang, _"But if being an A-student baby, I could win your love for me. Don't know much about history..._" They locked eyes, and he moved closer. At the last moment, he grabbed her waist and opposite hand and twirled her around, then dipped her. She got a panicked look in her eyes, and he pulled her back up. He spun her out again and sang along, "_but I do know one and one is two. And if this one could be with you, what a wonderful world it would be._" They extended their arms, and he pulled her back in close. John was becoming increasingly aware of how well Aeryn's body moved with his. Then, the two of them stopped dancing and stared at each other. 

Suddenly, all of the playful laughter had turned into something more serious - something that neither of them were ready for. He couldn't help it. He just kept staring at Aeryn, and she at him. He moved a step closer, put his hand on her waist and pulled her close. He was about to kiss her when he grabbed her hand and they started dancing again. "_Don't know much about the French I took..._" he sang, then swung her around again. This time, they stepped back and he twirled her under his arm. She laughed with glee. 

"Crichton, I've isolated the signal," Pilot's face came up on the viewscreen. Aeryn and John stopped suddenly, like guilty children. He was still holding her hand. She made no move to release him. 

"Where's it coming from?" John asked, hoping that Pilot could find the direction. 

"Unfortunately, it seems to be a random signal that was refracted by an ion cloud. There's no way to trace the signal before it encountered the cloud. I am sorry," Pilot explained. As if on cue, the music was drowned out by static. The signal was lost. 

John released Aeryn's hand and shook his head in disbelief. He felt as if someone had just taken the wind out of his sails. "Just a fluke," he muttered. "Just a damn fluke. If we could only have gotten a straight direction on it, I'd at least know how to get back home." A light touch on his shoulder reminded him of Aeryn's presence. He turned and looked at her. Her hair was falling out of the ponytail, and her face was flushed from their dancing. 

"I'm sorry, John," she sympathized. "I'm sorry that you didn't find what you were looking for. I think for a moment there, you were home. At least you got a taste of what you left behind. I'm a little jealous." She cracked a half-smile, the way she did when she talked about her exile. 

He reconsidered. Aeryn was right, but he was damned if he was going to admit it. She'd use it against him at the first opportunity. "It was pretty fun, wasn't it?" he asked. 

"Fun," she echoed. "I guess it was fun. It's sort of like martial arts, in a strange way." 

He climbed up into the cockpit and re-wound the recorder. "More than you know," he laughed. Then John jumped back down, took Aeryn's hand again and put his other hand around her waist. "Just follow what I do," he encouraged her. He pulled her in close, and they moved to the rhythm of the song again. Her body moved along in rhythm with his. They kept on dancing in Moya's hangar, with the help of the music from a forty-year-old signal from home.   
  


(With apologies to the writers and director of _Witness_: William Kelley, Pamela Wallace, Earl W. Wallace, and Peter Weir. "What a Wonderful World" and "Margaritaville" were used without permission of the songwriters.) 

* * *


End file.
